Sink Hole: How James Wilson Lost a Home
by lbc
Summary: Wilson is contemplating buying a new home.
1. Chapter 1

Title: SINK HOLE: How James Wilson Lost a Home but Found a House (1/2)

By: lbc

Pairing: H/W

Rating: PG-13

Remark: This was inspired by the reports of sink holes in various parts of Pennsylvania.

James Wilson stood by the window in his Princeton apartment. Looking out at the street but not really seeing it, Wilson remembered the day he had moved in. It had been several months after Amber's death, but he had been so sick of living in hotels that he couldn't face another. Living in Amber's apartment had spoiled him, but now . . . now he was thinking of a home.

Even when he had been married, he had always lived in condos or something similar. The last time that he could truly remember living in a house was when he was growing up. Of course, leaving home to go to university and on to Med School had made those years relatively short. Thanks to those years, he still had fond memories of living in something more substantial, even though it was a small frame house without all the comforts of today's dwellings.

He looked around his living room. He hadn't started to pack up things yet . . . call it a superstition, but it was really happening - - in just a few days he would sign the papers which would make him a property owner and even more importantly, he would be living in a home. Wilson smiled with pleasure.

A few months ago he hadn't thought this day was possible. His life was in tatters as he grieved for the loss of Amber. The trouble was that his grief was entwined with the loss of House as well. His friend had ceased to be that. He knew he had hurt House when he had told him that he wasn't sure that they had ever been friends, but House's father's funeral had been a catharsis, and for the last few months, he had felt that friendship re-awakening.

Friendship with House was not an easy thing and never had been. It was certainly give and take, but it had always been: Wilson give and House take or that's the way it seemed.

Wilson hadn't known it at the time, but as he lingered outside of House's presence in the months following Amber's loss, one thought kept him tied to reality. Just before Wilson had walked away from Princeton-Plainsboro, House had staged his own walkaway. He had actually abandoned a patient because as he said, "Your friendship matters more to me than the patient."

In the end House had returned and saved the day, but Wilson hadn't been there to find out. Now without telling House, Wilson was moving into a home in one of the nice neighborhoods around Princeton and hoping to conduct a "normal" life. Wilson had talked extensively to Lisa Cuddy about the move, and now it was here.

He kept telling himself; this was for the best: change was good. He had told House that he might leave New Jersey, but he had returned to Princeton and had been satisfied, but the idea of a home was tantalizing, and he had found a good deal. Mortgage rates were down and when he had seen the modified ranch style home, he had been enticed.

Now he was just waiting for Morton Kendall to tell him the deal was set. Turning and walking around the living room, he was thankful that he had not acquired a great deal of furniture or extras since he had settled his last divorce. He had given Julie the condo and the furniture, and it hadn't hurt a bit. Only his TIVO and his clothes had travelled with him because he had let Amber's parents deal with everything in her apartment. He had acquired a few things since settling down, but it amounted to little.

The sun was setting quickly now. Princeton had had lots of rain lately so the evening was even gloomier. It seemed strange not to be at the hospital. He had always spent a great deal of time devoted to his job, although he had never thought of it as such. That was one of many things that he and Greg House had in common. Some days they spent an inordinate amount of time at the hospital, and many of the days they spent at least sometime in each other's company. Even the much disputed poker games had now become comfortable except now he was known as THE DOCK (House's little joke, of course).

Having already eaten, Wilson prepared to settle down for an evening of reading and, hopefully, catching up on some of the TIVO programs that he had recorded. Maybe he would even go to bed early. Then, the phone rang. Feeling a slight anticipation that perhaps this was the phone call he had been waiting for, he almost ran to the landline.

"Hello!"

"Dr. Wilson?

"Yes, is this Morton?"

Wilson could hear a laugh as the speaker responded, "Recognize my voice already, huh?"

Wilson smiled, recalling the short man with the wisp of hair circling his head but bald on top. "Yeah, I've certainly talked to you enough to recognize your voice. Did my lawyer get all the information to you?"

"Yes, he did, and I really appreciate his efficiency . . . and yours."

Here the man hesitated. No one had to be a psychic to hear the tension in the silence.

"Is something the matter?"

"Dr. Wilson, I had hoped your lawyer had called you first, but I have some bad news."

"What? Is there something wrong with my credit or something?"

"No, no, nothing like that . . . I guess you could call it an ACT OF GOD. It seems the neighborhood in which you were acquiring property has been having some sewer problems."

Wilson sighed with relief, "You mean that the basement backed up?"

"No, not exactly; it's worse than that."

"WELL, WHAT IS IT FOR HEAVEN'S SAKES?" Realizing that he was practically shouting, Wilson took a breath and said in a more normal tone, "What's happened?"

"Well . . . to be very blunt, your house is gone."

"Gone . . . gone . . . you mean someone else bought it?"

"No, I mean, it's literally gone. A large . . . extremely large sink hole has appeared in that neighborhood, swallowing up two garages, three sheds and three houses. One of those houses was the one that you were planning to buy."

Silence reigned as James Wilson stood there stunned. He couldn't be hearing correctly. This had to be a nightmare.

"Dr. Wilson, are you still there?"

"I . . . I . . . don't know what to say."

"Well, you are very lucky that you hadn't closed the deal yet. You can imagine how the present owner is feeling."

Not really feeling any sympathy with the present owners and feeling slightly antagonistic to a realtor who had put forth this unwanted advice, Wilson managed to collect himself and ask, "What happened?"

"Well, as best as I can understand. The water authority had been replacing some of the pipes in the area. The rain that we've been having along with some "previously undiscovered geologic anomalies" weakened the soil structure in that area . . . and the dwellings . . . just sort of slid into the rather large hole that developed."

What ensued for the next several minutes bordered on the ridiculous and hysterical. Finally, Wilson couldn't endure it anymore, hanging up on Kendall because he had tired of the whining sympathy. It didn't help him; now he was without his home.

Wilson stripped off his clothing and headed for the shower. He stood under the scalding water until it turned cold. He kept hearing House's sarcastic comments when he heard about the recent events. He knew that his friend would say that it was what he deserved for trying to change.

Wilson threw himself on the bed. Lying in the dark, a headache began to invade his thoughts. Willing himself to relax, he told himself that he was lucky that he hadn't signed the papers because the disappearing home would now be his responsibility. He knew he was lucky, but what was he going to do now? Should he just stay in this apartment? He couldn't do that. He had already informed his landlord of his departure.

Now what?

James Wilson lay there for hours until suddenly he set straight up in bed. This was a message. Staying in New Jersey was not a good idea. He needed a complete change.

He would still have his home, but it would be in a different state, a different city, and he would get a new position!

Realizing that he was really jumping the gun since there was so much to be done, he tried to tell himself to relax, but sleep wouldn't come. The next day was his day off; he could spend the day making plans.

Waiting until the "decent" hour of 7:00 am, he called Lisa Cuddy, telling her of the disaster and his plans for moving. Needless to say, she tried to talk him out of it, but realizing that he was serious she did the next best thing and gave him some solid advice on what to do next. More importantly, she gave him the name of a realtor who dealt with property in several surrounding states so that, if Wilson was serious, he would not have to contact Morton Kendall again.

Wilson thanked her, ringing off soon after. Now that he had decided what he was going to do, he was anxious to start making plans. Staring at the piece of paper with a telephone number that might change his life, Wilson decided to call Simon Cantwell and talk to him about the possibility of finding a property outside of New Jersey. While the phone rang, Wilson pushed Cuddy's parting words to him to the back of his mind, "You better tell House about what you're thinking of doing."

After about 15 rings Wilson was just about ready to give up when a deep baritone voice answered, "Simon Cantwell, realtor."

Thankful that he could begin the process right away, Wilson cleared his voice and said, "Mr. Cantwell, I'm Doctor James Wilson. I'm thinking about changing my practice to another state, and I would like to begin looking for a suitable home."

"I see. Do you have any place in mind?"

"Yes, I'm thinking of practicing in the New York City area (knowing that Bill Cheevers had offered him a job in Oncology, he figured that he'd start there). I thought perhaps somewhere in the Middletown or Newburgh area."

"That's a good area. Let me look things over. My office is in Trenton, but I'll be happy to come up to Princeton and show you what I have. How does that sound?"

"Great, I'll be waiting to hear from you." After telling the unseen man his telephone number, Wilson rang off, feeling exhilarated. He felt that FINALLY he had taken control of his life.

Calling Bill Cheevers, Wilson talked to his long time colleague who was indeed interested in having the renowned oncologist come to New York. Feeling a thousand percent better, Wilson enthusiastically began to organize his apartment for a possible move. He knew that tomorrow he would need to see Cuddy and make arrangements for a few days off to go to New York, but otherwise everything seemed to be going well.

Most of the time James Wilson was a realist, but this time the oncologist scarcely realized the furor that was soon to be released in the form of one Gregory House, bestest buddy, and resident practitioner of sarcasm _par excellence._

End of part 1


	2. Chapter 2

Sink Hole: How James Wilson Lost a Home and Found a House (2/2)

By: lbc

Rating: Slash; PG-13

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these guys, but I don't

James Wilson felt as if he were sneaking into Fort Knox. It wasn't that he was afraid of meeting House . . . after all, how could House know what he was planning, but, ever since the literal collapse of his hopes for a home, Wilson had felt like wearing garlic or something to protect himself from the specter of further bad news.

It was a relief, therefore, when he met . . . no one, as he entered the lobby . . . not even Cuddy was there to offer further advice and sympathy. Turning the key to open his office, he felt a sense of relief upon entering the darkened room. Looking across into the meeting room, he realized that the ducklings were not even about. Perhaps House wasn't even here. Wilson collapsed on his sofa for a moment then noticed that his hands were filthy. He had had to clean the windshield this morning and obviously some dirt had been left.

Unlike House whose hygiene often left a great deal to be desired, Wilson thought of himself as fastidious. As he headed towards the men's toilet, however, he also had to admit to himself that House's usual musk had a sexual lure that could be enticing . . . not that he, himself, was attracted.

Washing his hands moments later, the peace of the day quickly disintegrated when a well-known bellicose voice was heard, just as the door to the restroom opened,

"YOU IDIOT!"

House had arrived.

Turning to face the bellowing monster, Wilson queried, "Did Cuddy tell you?"

A genuine look of confusion crossed the scruffy face. "What'd ya mean, Cuddy? She knows about this too?" For a second Wilson thought he saw genuine hurt in the blue eyes but it was hidden swiftly.

Realizing his mistake, Wilson decided to tread carefully. "I . . . uh, talked to her because she owns a house, and I wanted her advice."

House smirked as he contemplated that discussion, but then he bore in on the most important point. "Why'd ya want a house anyway?"

"I thought I would like to spend my money on something a bit more permanent . . . you know, instead of paying rent for an apartment or something."

"You can BUY a condo. Oh, I forgot you've already done that several times with your wives."

**Oh brother, the sarcasm assembly line is really getting in gear now.** Wilson stared for a moment and then remembered how this had all started, "How'd you find out?"

In his snarkiest voice, House related his "ordeal" in dealing with a phone call to Wilson's phone. One in which Wilson was not there to answer so it kept ringing and ringing. On the other end, after a bit of confusion, House discovered one Morton Kendall, who was calling to apologize for Dr. Wilson's problems with HIS house. House promised to give his bestest friend the message and hung up, running (figuratively) to find the fugitive from the truth.

"Oh."

"That's all you've got to say? Oh?"

"Did . . . Kendall say anything else?"

"Well, he said something about you losing the house, but that's all."

Feeling slightly relieved, Wilson shrugged, trying to make light of the situation. "Yeah, I never got to sign the papers so I lost the house. You know . . . sort of like the time, you deleted the message so I didn't buy that condo I was hoping to get?" **Might as well take it to the man, so he won't ask more.**

House stood in the open space of the restroom contemplating his friend. Something was going on and one of them was not coming out of here alive, until the secret was exposed.

"How was it lost?"

Wilson knew that his hope of avoiding the ridicule and sarcasm was gone, but he was moving; he was getting a new home; he was starting a new life, and he was going to be without Greg House so he might as well find his backbone and tell all.

And he did. For the next ten minutes, he explained his dealings with Morton Kendall, the ordeal with the sink hole and even more importantly, his plans to move out of the state and begin a new life in a new position. House listened and said nothing.

Fortunately for both combatants, several personnel entered the room at that point. House snarled and growled, mumbling something about weak bladders, but it was enough of a diversion for Wilson to make his way out of the restroom and return to his office ahead of his limping interrogator.

Wilson sat down, preparing for the worst, but the worst never happened. House did not barge in and within minutes James Wilson was involved in clinic duty and his other duties in Oncology. Nevertheless, he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

About 1:00, Wilson was paged to go to the main lobby where he had a visitor. Arriving there within minutes, he was surprised to see a visitor whose very appearance spoke sensuality. His long blond hair tumbled gently to his shoulders, but it was certainly pleasant to see such a clean shaven, self-confident man, wanting to meet him. Walking up to the lobby desk, he announced, "I'm James Wilson."

Holding out his hand, the tall, strikingly handsome man introduced himself, "I'm Simon Cantwell, Dr. Wilson. I have to go to Paramus today, and I thought I would come by and introduce myself and give you the information that I've gathered so far."

Pleased to see such efficiency, Wilson smiled and took the folder. "That's great. There's so much to think about; this will help me get started. Do you have time to stay for a cup of coffee or something?"

The handsome man, just a few years older than Wilson seemed pleased by the suggestion so the two men went to the hospital cafeteria to discuss Wilson's plans. Surprisingly the two men hit it off immediately, finding common interests. Cantwell seemed to understand exactly what Wilson was looking for. The inner turmoil that Wilson had been feeling had settled down to a mild euphoria. He would have his home.

Wilson would have been less content, however, if he had known that while he spent a pleasant half hour with his realtor, Greg House had spotted the two men who had their heads together over some folders, and that the same Greg House was planning to launch a campaign which would be fought to the death for the person of James Wilson.

HWHWHWHWHWHW

It had been a long day . . . a very long day. Two young patients of his had had relapses but were now stabilized. He had stayed at the hospital until well after 9:00. His lunch had been the cup of coffee while he was with Cantwell. He had gone to the lounge later and thought about a peanut butter sandwich, but just the sight of the swirling goober made his stomach cringe with the memories of the time that Tritter had cut off his funds and peanut butter had become his refuge.

James Wilson had thought he had put the Tritter episode behind him, but now he realized that it took very little to bring up the memories that still haunted him. The same was true about Amber. He'd loved her, but he would never have married her. Even now, he would find or see something that would haunt him about those months and her soft, warm body next to his.

House was an enigma and a mystery and even though Wilson had known the man for twenty years, the last several months disturbed him. He had returned to PPTH after Amber's death and seemingly taken up his friendship with House again, but had they really repaired the terrible wound that had separated them for many months? If that schism had really been repaired then why was he so willing to move to another state as well as moving out of House's life? He kept telling himself that he wanted more, but why had a home become the focal point of his desire?

Tiredness flowed over him like a hot shower. Luckily, he had prepared casserole weeks before so it was easy to put it in the oven. That is if he could stay awake. Deciding to take a shower, Wilson began to remove his clothing when the door buzzer sounded. Dragging himself to the door, he looked out the peep hole and saw a sight that he never expected: House blowing him a kiss . . . of course, he could have been blowing a razzie, but it did look much more like a kiss.

Opening the door slowly, Wilson looked out and saw . . . nothing. Suddenly a bouquet of roses appeared from behind the exterior wall. Since a hand was attached to the roses, Wilson assumed that it must be House, as ridiculous as that seemed.

"Come in, House."

The aforementioned House immediately appeared and waltzed his way into the room. Wilson stared at the huge bouquet of roses but said nothing. The two men continued to stare at each other for several moments then House smiled and said, "Here's some roses for your girlfriend."

Wilson's handsome face frowned, "What are you talking about?"

"Well, I saw that hot babe you were having a tête à tête with at lunch this afternoon, and I figured that you might need something to sweeten her up."

"Are you insane? That was a man, not a woman."

House attempted to look mortified, but it was obviously faked. "Oh, excuse me. I thought that long hair meant something. Is he good?"

Wilson attempted to look disgusted by shaking his head like the man standing in front of him had an IQ in single digits, but that didn't faze House. "Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, I know you swing both ways, but really - - in the cafeteria?"

"HE'S MY REALTOR!"

"Wow, I bet you'll get a LOW mortgage rate, IF you know what I mean?" Here House wiggled his eyebrows in a lurid and obscene way.

"WHAT do you want, House?"

Gregory House threw down the roses and stood staring at his friend; then in a small, almost desperate whisper, he said, "I don't want you to move."

Wilson stood there . . . blinking. Greg House had actually asked him to stay?

"I'm not just moving House; I may be getting a position at New York General. I've talked to Cheevers about the possibility, but I thought I told you that?"

Tiny flecks of green appeared in the blue eyes as House said with a touch of frost in his voice, "You sleepin' with him too?"

Wilson's mouth dropped open, "Are you crazy; I haven't seen Cheevers in five years or more. I'm a good enough Oncologist that I don't have to sleep with anybody to get to the top."

"Did you say that to Cuddy, too?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you were 36 when you got to be Oncology head; that must mean something." House's facial expression said that it must have been quite obvious.

"Well, you were 95 when she appointed you Head of Diagnostics so did you wait that long to put out?"

House gave his friend a gentle, proud smile. "Nah, didn't have to. She's always wanted my body after that one time."

Wilson's eyebrow shot up, but not really in surprise. He had guessed right, but, for some reason, he was getting no pleasure from it. "House, I'm tired; I just want to eat and go to bed."

"I'm willing to go along with that, but frankly I think your dinner is burning."

Suddenly, Wilson noticed the rather burnt smell that was in the air. Rushing into the kitchen, he opened the door to the oven. Thankfully, only the outer crust was somewhat dark. The casserole was still edible. Taking it out of the oven, he sat it on a trivet and began dipping out a large piece onto the waiting plate.

A noise in the doorway reminded him that House was still in the apartment . . . only now he was waiting in the doorway, looking at the aromatic food with a definite lustful stare. Sighing, knowing that he was being conned, Wilson asked, "Have you had dinner?"

"Sure, something from the cafeteria called Baby Beef Drumsticks . . . only they weren't babies, or beef, and if those are drumsticks, they've been doing gene splicing on them."

Wilson was quite familiar with this strange offering that the hospital cafeteria managed to have about once a month. He had overheard a conversation in which two doctors were wondering if the road kill quotas had been used to supply this "unusual" dish.

Seeing the forlorn face, Wilson fell into the trap and asked, "Sit down; there's plenty of casserole."

House smiled; his face labelling Wilson . . . a sucker . . . AGAIN. Both men sat down and tucked into the filling meal. After a half hour or so, with their stomachs full, Wilson started to get up to clear off the table, but House's hand stopped him.

"I meant what I said; I don't want you to move. If you want a home then get one around here, except Cuddy's that is."

"I've already tried that, remember. That sink hole seemed to be a message; try somewhere else."

"You're a moron. If money's a problem, I'll buy half of the house."

Wilson frowned and hesitantly asked, "Why . . . why would you put money into a house that I would be living in?"

"How did you ever make _Magna Cum Laude_? I meant that we'd each buy half and we'd live together."

LIVE TOGETHER! Just the sound of those words shook Wilson to the core. Trying not to swallow his tongue, Wilson managed to splutter out, "We . . . we've already tried that once, remember. That didn't work out too well."

"Well, of course not, Mr. Perfect Hair and Toe Nails, but we could buy one of those split type places where you would have your bedroom at one end of the house, and I could have my domain at the other end."

"Your domain, huh? Listen you haven't moved in 15 years; why would you do so now?"

House looked at him like "duh", and then his voice softened, "You walked out on me once; you married twice more; you committed adultery with me, and you flaunted your "girlfriend" in front of me. Figured I better speak up before you really blow it and move to New York or something."

Figuring that House was referring to Amber when he mentioned a girlfriend, Wilson was about to retaliate when he realized that House was referring to Simon Cantwell. Snorting, Wilson replied, "House, I am not involved with Simon Cantwell; he's my realtor. I haven't slept with a man since . . ." Here he stopped, realizing that he was about to blurt out that-which-must-never-be-spoken-about.

House looked at him suspiciously; his blue eyes hidden behind drooping eyelids. There was tension in the air, and Wilson was afraid what House would say next, but he was mildly surprised by what House was focussing on.

"Whose fault was that? How'd I know that you were going to divorce "Woody" so soon after the Medical Convention? Did you expect me to wait around to see what you were going to do when you left Louisiana with your tail behind your legs, and not even mentioning those two nights?"

"I know . . . but when I did contact you, you were already with Stacey. I thought you would settle down."

"Yeah, and you were hooked up with Bonnie. What's with you and realtors? You don't feel compelled to marry every one of them, do you?"

"Yes, I do; maybe it's this need for a home that I have."

"How about a House; will a House do instead?"

Wilson was speechless. What a loaded question. It could mean a lot or a little. Wilson was sure that whatever he said would be the wrong thing, but the two men couldn't just stand there, staring at each other.

"I don't know why a home has become so important, maybe because it represents commitment, and I know you're not willing to make a commitment. I'm sorry, House, but you once told me when I needed to talk to a friend that you weren't that type. You would soon find the whole thing boring. You'd expect me to do the dishes, wash the clothes, and cook the food and what would you contribute to the whole thing?"

"How about sex?"

"Huh?"

"I'm willing to trade sex for you doing all those "wifey" chores."

Wilson bristled at the suggestion of him being feminine but he held back his anger. "Doesn't sound like much of a bargain; if I wanted sex I could pay a few dollars and save myself having to do all the chores."

"Yeah, but the sex would be with me."

"Gee, Mr. Modesty! Why did I forget that?"

"Cut it, Wilson. I'm willing to give up my privacy, and my way of life to keep you here; where can you find a better deal than that?"

"Well, I'm sure the Yellow Pages could give me a few ideas."

"What's New York and a home got that I can't give you?"

Wilson ran his hand over his forehead; a monstrous headache beginning to grow. "House go home and sleep it off. I'm sure when the aliens put you back in your bed, it will all seem like it never happened."

House limped a few steps toward the younger man. "Why are you really doing this; it can't just be a home?"

"All right, call it my genetic clock or something. Maybe I'm reaching a mid-life crisis; some men want a cute young thing; I want a home and . . ."

"What you want is me; just as I've wanted you since that goddamned Medical Convention 20 years ago. You went home to your wife, and I went on to Stacey. We both made a mistake; let's not make another one."

Wilson stood, blinking his eyes in utter amazement. "Why didn't you say something before?"

"When have I ever had time between wives, dying lovers, or cutthroat bitches?"

"I . . . I . . . I . . . don't know what to say."

"Nicely put; now, let's go to bed and I'll show you how sincere I am."

"What?"

"Wake up, Wilson. I may not be able to give you a home, yet, but I'm certainly willing to give you a House."

"You're really serious?"

"Let's go to the bedroom, and I'll show you how serious."

Turning towards the bedroom, Wilson had taken a few steps when he whirled around, looking extremely insecure. "This isn't just one of your jokes, is it? I mean, like sending me flowers in Cuddy's name?"

The look on Gregory House's face spoke of many things, especially his determination and sincerity.

"Okay, let's go."

HWHWHWHWHWHW

Hours later the two men lay entwined in each other's arms. House had taken a Vicodin and was fairly floating, but he wasn't sure if it was the med or Wilson's musk. They had brought each other to climax in a mindboggling act of need, but now they were lying next to each other, Wilson felt contentment, but he wasn't sure about House. The oncologist had wanted to lay his head on House's chest but felt that House might think that was too sentimental.

You never knew with House. He berated feelings and sentiment, but he was the one who had pushed this. Perhaps it would be better to cool things down a bit because he was extremely wary of being hurt again by the scruffy faced man. To that end, he began to pull away from the other man in preparation for getting up, but a roughened hand stopped him.

"You tired of this already? What was it . . . just another test?"

Wilson turned and looked at the dishevelled man, "What test?"

"Like the one you gave me when I tried to get you to go with me to dinner when my mom and dad came to town."

"Oh, you mean, like the gradual increase of money that you kept asking for?"

"I just wondered how far you would go . . . how far are you willing to go with this?"

"House, I'm not even sure what THIS is."

"Gee, I thought they would have covered it all in various medical courses you took, but if you need me to explain."

Lightly tapping the man, Wilson whispered, "You know I didn't mean that. House, I need to know what you want from me. You say you'll give me sex in return for us living together and me doing the chores. Okay, but that's not what I want so I think we better talk about this . . . or I'm out of here."

"This is your apartment, you idiot; how can you leave?"

Wilson scrunched up his face and made another effort to move away, but once again was stopped.

"Okay, okay, here's what I want. I-want-you-to-stay-in-Princeton-and-not-move-away."

Feeling strangely disappointed, Wilson said nothing, just stared into the blue eyes. After several moments silence, he whispered, "I see." With that he pulled his arm free and got up from the bed. "How often do I get sex if I follow your wishes, oh magnanimous one?"

Greg House knew that somehow this whole thing had taken a wrong turn, but he didn't know where so he decided to bluff. "Whenever you want; Cuddy would love to see us in the main lobby, I'm sure."

That was a mistake and House knew it as soon as he said it. James Wilson headed towards the bathroom, slamming the door loudly. In typical House style, he shouted at the closed door, "WELL, YOU ASKED!"

Although it was getting late, it was still earlier than House usually arrived at the hospital so he decided to wait out his recalcitrant friend. Hearing the shower and later the hair dryer, House knew that Wilson was getting ready to go to PPTH. What was he going to do now?

Finally, the younger man came out of the bathroom, fresh shaven and looking devastatingly handsome. Wilson headed for the kitchen but halted when he heard House whisper, "I can't tell you I love you."

Turning slightly, his brown eyes shuttered against further hurt, Wilson replied, "Well, thanks for that; I'm glad I didn't force you to do anything that you can't do."

"I can't say I love you because I said it to Stacey and it meant nothing. Did I tell you that I met her when she shot me?"

Wilson nodded but said nothing. House continued, "She wasn't boring, and she was good in bed, but I couldn't tell her what she really wanted to hear . . . that I was in love with her. I couldn't do that because I was already in love . . . with you."

Now House had Wilson's attention. "You were in love with me?"

"Yeah, I guess it was the medical convention or you throwin' the bottle through the window or whatever, but I fell pretty hard."

"Well, it's good to know that at one time you were in love with me, but it's not really relevant to the situation now. I have to get to the hospital. Lock up when you leave."

House frowned, not understanding why Wilson seemed so unenthusiastic about this major pronouncement; then he realized how the man had read it. Shaking his head at the vast gap between them, he got out of bed, walked over to Wilson and said directly to him. "I AM still in love with you, you moron. I loved Stacey, but it wore off; you have never worn off. When you came to the hospital after the infarction, you were what kept me alive. If I could say I love you, I would. Let me show you instead."

"With sex?"

"No, with this. House leaned over and kissed his friend of twenty years. Soon their bodies were pressed together in a mind numbing embrace. They kissed until they ran out of breath. Finally, House released his friend and stood back to stare at him.

Wilson's eyes seemed glazed over for a moment; then he returned to consciousness and asked, "Are you saying this just to get me in bed with you?"

House smirked, "Boy, you really trust me, don't you?"

"Okay, are you saying this just to stop me from moving?"

"No, I'M SAYING IT because I mean it although I understand why you might be a bit sceptical."

Wilson's eyebrows shot up to reveal that scepticism, but he also put his arms around House's waist. "How about the home I want?"

"What about it?"

"I want to move in in the very near future."

"Where to?"

"We can negotiate that."

"Okay, but Simon Cantwell is out."

"What? He was really efficient."

"I don't want to hear the lurid details of your relationship; we're going to get some guy that knows this area around Princeton; not Mr. Blond Poof Realtor of the Month."

Wilson smiled gently, "You're jealous."

"Damn right."

"Well, I guess we'll have to find someone else."

"No problem; I asked Morton Kendall to start looking."

"MORTON KENDALL - - not him, he's the one who tried to sell me a sink hole."

"Yeah, but at least he won't try to grope you."

"House, we are not using Morton Kendall."

"Okay, okay, we'll talk about the whereabouts of our home when we get back tonight, but right now you've got your House, what are you going to put in it?" As he asked this question filled with innuendo, Wilson gave him a quick kiss and then headed to the kitchen.

"Go take a shower. The only thing that's going into you now is breakfast, but if you're a very good boy, I might find something else this evening."

House gave him a lascivious look and rapidly headed towards the bathroom. Hearing the water running, Wilson began preparing breakfast. Within a few minutes, the shower shut down and House limped out into the kitchen with just a towel wrapped around his hips.

"Do I have any clean clothes here?"

"I think so, but I'll have to check."

"By the way, what are you going to put into this House later this evening?"

Looking at his lover, James Wilson, with a dead pan face, replied, "Why baby beef drumsticks, of course. Got them . . ."

Wilson never finished the rest of the statement as a very wet towel slapped him in the face. A riot ensued as Wilson saw the naked body. Both men were extremely late to the hospital that morning, and were not one iota repentant.

The End


End file.
